DISCLAIMER: Sam and Dean Winchester are not my characters nor are the other canons found in this story which is based off of the CW show Supernatural.
SUMMARY: Dean's time is running out but that doesn't stop the Winchester brother's from solving their usual Monster of the Week and saving a few damsels in distress. A mysterious highway killer, and young female victims? Sounds like Dean's type of gig.
RATING: PG-13… just in case
NOTES:
This story features some characters taken (with permission) from a marvelous Supernatural RP called Blooded Warefare which can be found here: bloodedwarfare .proboards98 .com (remove spaces before "." )
Paint It Black
Part 1:
The driver was testing the speakers of the old '67 Impala to their breaking point. Creedence Clearwater Revival should never be blaring that loud. Though the music stood no chance of covering up the roar of the large engine under the hood of shiny black metal. Headlights mirrored on the black top surface, coated with a fine layer of water, it was hard to tell were one lane began and the other ended. But at this time of the night, it didn't matter. Their luck would only be so bad if they passed more than one vehicle on this back road highway, long forgotten now that interstates made everything so much faster and so much more in the open. But they couldn't risk the interstate. Not even with changed plates and new registration, forged though it was. All it took was one slip up and they were done, over.
Stormy eyes looked at the small screen of the phone, held in a hand that dwarfed the electronic device. Every few moments scrolling through a list of messages long ago sent. The times listed between each one going from hours, to full days, to weeks. Their content getting shorter and shorter, until they were just a few words. The owner paused for a moment over the last one, "We need to talk," was all that it said on the screen. Four words that even now made his stomach churn and the strings of his heart snap. He hadn't responded. Three days and no reply had been sent back. What was there to say?
"Put it away, Sammy," came the voice from the driver's side. But the owner of the phone didn't move.
"Go over the case again," he stated instead, finally letting the screen go black.
"You could just call."
"Dean. The case."
"Look it wouldn't kill you…"
"DEAN! Just talk about the case."
"Fine."
The tapping against the wheel had stopped, and Dean Winchester's hand reached over to turn down the music. This was a feat of itself since he was prone to be the one to turn it up when things got awkward. But whatever it was Sam currently was avoiding would not be resolved tonight, not now. Not when there was a case on the table and it was so much easier to push things aside. Focus on this, the job, and nothing else. To be Dean.
"Springfield, Illinois. In the last five years there have been deaths twice a year over the same stretch of highway."
"Could just be a serial killer."
"All young twenty-something females driving alone."
"So what makes this our kind of thing, Dean? Next we'll be going after shoplifters?"
"Shut up, I'm getting to it. They all stopped at the same gas station according to the newspaper and police reports. Found receipts."
"Well, then there's a psycho killing young girls Texas Chainsaw style."
"Was that a movie reference?"
"I watch movies."
"Not those kinds…and no… not like that. There's no trace of foul play beyond the corpses. No prints, no evidence of someone breaking in. It's like the killer just appeared and then…"
"Vanished…so one of our things."
"Exactly, College Boy, the question is what exactly?"
"Well if it's leaving no trace either it is something the cops missed…"
"Which knowing them and their crack team work could happen."
"Or," Sam stated "we are dealing with an angry spirit."
"Yeah, but what kind and who?"
White dashes flew across the pavement as Dean drove, the music turned up again as silence settled between the two brothers. A sidelong glance, that's all Dean needed every once and awhile to gauge where his brother's mind was. He had determined it was far away from where they were. Another hour of silence went by, and still Sam's gaze lingered out the passenger window. The night was too dark for the scenery to be seen.
It was not the scenery that had Sam's concentration anyway, his breath fogging up the glass and then disappearing. Poetic in a way. That's what his life had become to other people. Just a breath for a moment that would disappear, forgotten like it wasn't there these days. A shadow. And now everything he had run from so many years ago had caught up to him. He was in the center of the web he wanted to get away from. As much as he wanted to blame Dean, blame his Dad, Sam couldn't. He had made the choice to get back in again and normal life would never be his again.
It was worth it though. Saving people, hunting things, as Dean put it, the "Family Business". In those few moments Sam felt he was alive again, and even if the connection was fleeting it was there. Everything felt alright. He could feel that Dean was worried. Having followed in his footsteps trailing behind, Sam knew his big brother better than anyone else, better than Sam knew himself. He just… he didn't want to talk about things right now. And since when did Dean talk about things anyway? All action. That was Dean Winchester. None of that touchy chick "How do you feel?" stuff.
"…and then you wore those women's underwear…"
"What are you talking about?" Sam's head snapped towards Dean in confusion.
"Welcome back to the land of the here and now, Sammy. Thought you were space cadetting on me."
"Yeah… well… whatever. Where are we?"
"Fifteen minutes out. It's too late now to do anything though. Better to put it off to daylight."
"Wow… Dean. Being the reasonable one."
"Just don't get used to it."
Pulling into the lot of a cheap motel, Sam was the one to get them a room this time. Didn't want the risk of Dean getting recognized. As Sam put it in the car, he did "have a face only a mother could love", which earned him a punch in the arm and a brotherly glare. Tonight the room was treated to them by a Mr. Nelson Pratt. The credit card company would have a field day with that one. Though Sam usually liked to use cash when he was the one making arrangements. Bad enough lying about his identity, let alone stealing. But some things had to change, and the more this became his life, the easier it had become. The lies, deceit, and disappearing.
That part, the last was what hurt the most. Dean could tell it was beginning to wear on Sam. Sam who at one point had friends, had a grounded life. Now to everyone he was dead or just… well… gone. The urge to check Sam's phone was a temptation. Privacy? What was that again? Living out of motels and his baby, privacy was a concept along with secrets that neither one could afford. But there were still lines that Dean, though morally gray as he was at times, wouldn't cross. If it was important to their job, the hunt, and what ever the hell was going on, Sam would have shared at his nagging.
No, what ever was weighing on Sam's mind was personal. It wasn't up for teasing or debate. So he waited in the car, fingers tapping against the steering wheel to the music in his head, humming along. Watchful eyes on his baby brother, a habit that dear Dad had fostered in him since that fire. "Watch out for Sammy… Keep an eye on your little brother… Keep him safe…" Even now Dean could hear the echo of their Dad, John, though he was dead. Some times it was too much. The responsibility, the fact that try as he might he seemed to just keep becoming a carbon copy of the man. His car, the jacket, the guns, his beliefs…no… he was different. He actually wanted out one day.
"I swear if you are humming Metallica I'm destroying the tape."
Looking up at Sammy through the open window, Dean smirked. "Someone's panties are in a bunch."
"At least I have taste."
"If Coldplay is considered taste, I can see why everyone thinks you're gay."
"Jerk."
"Bitch."
Taking the keys out of the ignition, closing up the car, his baby, Dean went to the trunk. Stuffing the old army duffel bag with some items they might need in the morning, Dean threw the bag at Sam who slung it over his shoulder dangling the key with the room number glinting in the streetlights.
"Shag carpet," Dean commented. "Hey! Magic fingers!" he added twiddling his own.
"Dean… just… focus please…"
"Just one quarter?"
End of Part 1
Part 2:
"Well, you don't know what we can find…Why don't you come with me little girl.. On a magic carpet ride…"
"Dean!" Sam grumbled, head between his pillows, "Seriously? Steppenwolf?"
"Hey!" Dean stated peeking around the bathroom doorway, splashing some after shave on his face, "At least it isn't Asia," he ended with a smirk. Quickly that was threatened by a well aimed pillow hitting the door frame.
"You throw like a girl!"
"Well you take as much time getting ready as one," Sam yawned, stretching his long limbs.
"Don't rush perfection."
Rolling his eyes, Sam sat on the edge of his chosen bed. One of his large hands running through his hair that had gotten a bit longer and bit shaggier. His "OCD" as Dean called it was yelling at him for not keeping a nice neat appearance. That he had let his hair get to this state. But unlike Dean, Sam didn't care about his overall appearance. Ladies weren't really on his agenda, not now, and not with time running out. His record with the opposite gender wasn't spectacular either. Dean with his girl in every town style didn't suit Sam, and after everything that had happened… Jessica…Madison… well he wasn't ready to put his heart back on the line.
Pulling a plaid button down shirt over the simple white tee he was wearing, Sam looked up as he heard Dean vacate the bathroom.
"Dude, the lumberjack look… it died with Nirvana."
"Okay Steve McQueen. I'll keep that in mind."
"Damn straight I'm Steve McQueen."
"Just keep telling yourself that, Dean."
"So I figured we'd hit the scene of the crime today. See if there's something the cops missed."
"What about a connection between victims?"
"I thought my trusty geek boy could handle that," Dean smiled placing some items back in the duffel bag such as his old EMF reader. Never leave the motel without one.
"So what are you going to do?"
"Ask the locals about any legends."
"In other words pick up chicks," Sam stated disgruntled. But the time alone would give him an opportunity to find out what that call was about. Hoping it was good news, but inwardly knowing it was anything but.
"Hey…they dig me. Must be the rebel without a cause vibe."
"I take it back, you aren't Steve McQueen," Sam huffed, pulling on his jeans and packing up his trusty laptop that was on the table, "You're a poor man's version of James Dean."
"James Dean has nothing on me," Dean winked, zipping up the bag, "You ready there, sunshine?"
Backwoods, these things always happened on a road that barely could be considered two lanes that during the night would have no light. Sometimes real life was a horror movie and people just didn't know it. But there they were, police barricade of yellow tape, as if that was going to keep anyone from exploring more so when just the local sheriff was on duty. Searching through the box that was kept in the glove compartment, Sam pulled out two IDs, handing one over to Dean who was fishing around in the center console for his false badge.
Looking out the window, Sam tilted his head to the side. Something wasn't right. There had already been two deaths this year, so why was there a vehicle there still? And fresh tire tracks, more so when Dean had said the last death had happened earlier in the month. Since when did spirits break their modus operandi?
Both of the brothers didn't have time to formulate a story when the town sheriff approached them.
"How can I help you boys?" he said, sunglasses masking what his eyes were really studying about them.
Standing up, Dean quickly flashed the fake badge at him with a sideways grin, while Sam stayed in the passenger's seat not that he could get out from the officer blocking his way. No, Sam occupied himself by studying the scene.
"Morning officer. Just passing by and saw the lines. Care to share the details?"
Studying both of the boys up a bit, the sheriff decided a few details wouldn't matter. They had no jurisdiction here anyway. "Local girl got murdered. Waiting for the tow truck to get the vehicle back to the yard. Nasty business."
"You had a death like this early this month right? According to the newspapers," Dean continued.
"Well, you know your stuff boy. Same method of death too, car found in the same place."
"Any theories?"
"Son, this happened last night. First thing is clean up the mess, then we'll start pointing fingers."
That was when the back-up had arrived, clearing the crime scene. Police, even local ones were not something that either Sam and Dean wanted to risk themselves around. Technically they were supposed to be dead… again. Wouldn't do for both of them to be found and arrested. "Thanks for your time," Dean waved sliding back into the driver's seat and starting up the engine.
"Something isn't right," Sam said breaking the silence on the drive back to the motel.
"Care to share, genius?" Dean said glancing over.
"Dean, there was blood everywhere in that car. I could see it. And since when did spirits break their MO's? They always follow patterns."
"You don't think it could be…"
"A tulpa? Maybe. It does fit with things changing…but highly unlikely."
"Care to enlighten me?"
"Well think about it Dean. Last time it took thousands of internet viewers to make Mordecai back in Texas appear and change. What are the chances that if this is a tulpa, that many people believe it, are focusing on the same symbol, and that it went five years without changing? Mordecai's MO changed in moments."
"Well thanks for the lecture on that one professor. So that leaves us where exactly?" Dean stated in his frustrated tone.
"Back at the beginning of I've got nothing. You said that all these victims stopped at the same gas station right?" Sam asked with a curious expression.
"That's what police reports and news articles said."
"Any other connection?"
"Besides them all being twenty-something females? Nope. Not that I could figure out."
"What are the chances that our latest victim went there?"
"First we need to establish who this latest one is," Dean spoke with lifted brows.
Old ladies, there was something about Sam that they just seemed to love. Dean, they could care less about. Perhaps it was his all-American apple-pie looks that made them putty in his hands. Sam would have hit Dean with his smirks and snickering. Fake smile plastered on his face, Sam grinned and bore the humiliation and the awkwardness of the station receptionist hitting on him. Payback, that's what Dean would receive.
"See, we've had a few of the same cases ourselves," Sam said through clenched teeth.
"So see m'am, what my handsome devil of a partner is saying that if you could just make a copy of your files…"
"I can't do that! It's against procedure," she huffily defended.
"Cheryl… it would really help our own case. Think about all the young women you'd help save," Sam spoke with his puppy dog eyes.
Debating for a moment, Cheryl stood from the desk. "I shouldn't be doing this but… if it would help…"
Handing over the files of every case that fit the same as the recent one, Cheryl's hand grabbed Sam's hand as the other one held the big folder.
"Now sugar, you take care of those bad guys."
Awkward… that was the only word as Sam tried to wrestle away his hand from Cheryl's grip. "Will do and… thank… you…" he finished freeing his hand.
Smiling from ear to ear, Dean looked at Sam over the roof of the Impala, taking off his tie as he laughed.
"What is it?"
"You know Sam. You probably could have got her number. Have a hot wild Saturday night. Early bird special and all."
"I hate you," Sam said disgruntled.
"Don't be angry, Sammy. There's other fish in the sea."